Harry Potter and the Gift of Zabulon
by Lousy Poet Automaton
Summary: A lonely child living without love or acceptance went to sleep one night in his cupboard.  And in his dream, he met a smiling stranger, a dark man from another world.


"Harry Potter and the Gift of Zabulon"

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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or Nightwatch. This is only an experiment.

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The dark man in the dream had been visiting him for years.

He explained that Harry was not, in fact, a freak. That there was a greatness inside him. That, unfortunately, those who ought to have been taking care to raise up his world's only Great Other, did not understand what he truly was. He promised Harry friendship and acceptance, and power beyond measure. Immortality too. The freedom to do what he wished to whomever he wished - so long as he would follow certain rules.

So of course, alone in his cupboard, and very hungry and very upset, Harry had said yes.

_I will not be able to come for you for decades yet, youngling. The Veil between the worlds is a new toy for my kind - it will take decades to bring you across._

"So long? Well, I can wait," he called out to the night. "Please, just don't leave me alone."

_Of course. In the mean time, you can live out your destiny in your world. Still... What we see in store for you is rather perilous, and I don't wish for you to perish before it is time. I will give you something. Something precious._

Nobody had ever given Harry anything that could be considered precious. This stranger made him feel wanted. This stranger told him he could have whatever life he chose.

"I'll take it."

_Now, keep in mind that the magic in your realm works differently from ours. This will not always seem like a blessing. But I promise you, in the end, the rewards will be truly, truly unlike anything your swine-like relatives can imagine for you._

In dreams, the dark one pulled him through into that strange Twilight world, where the air was cold and breathless and the light was dim. He held up a piece of chalk, and drew a circle around Harry.

The boy curled up in his bed, still sleeping, and smiled as something warm began to empty out from inside of himself. The heat of his anger and pain was replaced by soothing, cool darkness.

_I look forward to the day when I can see you in person, Harry Potter. It will give me great pleasure to welcome you to Dnevnoy Dozor._

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Dumbledore frowned when young Harry Potter put on the Sorting Hat. It was taking entirely too long. And the Hat was... twitching. The murmurs and whispers of the students were crawling back and forth around the Hall, distortions, ripples on a pond of silence.

"Why did we even bother," Severus muttered. "The boy will surely be..."

"Slytherin."

"What?"

They almost had not heard it, the Hat had spoken so softly. The artifact repeated it once more, just as softly, but the second time, its whisper carried to every ear in the Hall.

The headmaster took a deep breath, and tried to maintain a cheerful facade. His staff members were stunned, none more so than Minerva and Severus.

Harry Potter carefully removed the Hat, and walked quietly to the Slytherin table. Some were cheering, mostly the younger students. But the older ones just watched him as he approached, many of them glaring, though some wore expressions of curiosity and amusement.

Finally, the roll call of new students continued, and soon, everyone was eating loudly, noisily, messily.

Dumbledore watched Potter there, sitting and eating at the far end of the table. The boy spoke little and ate less, and mostly watched those around himself. Harry looked so much older than his fellow first-years. Though he seemed small in his school robes, he was leaner than them, cheekbones more pronounced. Pale, and drawn. His nose was a little crooked - it had been broken once, and not set properly.

He also seemed quite uncomfortable with the voluminous sleeves of his robes. He pulled them back and knotted them, keeping the soft black material clear of the food in front of him. His arms were lean, wiry - more muscular than a boy of that age ought to be.

And when the Malfoy boy approached Harry and spoke with him, Harry's smile was strange. Exasperation. Contempt. But also, an odd sort of... fondness? Harry said something in reply, and Malfoy bowed to him, and Harry stood to bow in return.

Alarming. Nothing like the way his parents were.

Minerva's eyes blazed when they met Dumbledore's. She mouthed, _it's those awful muggles you left him with! Look at what they've done to him!_

"Severus."

Snape's eyes had been focused very, very far away, at nothing, at old memories, Dumbledore guessed. That long, impassive face had alternately turned pale and red from moment to moment since Potter had become a member of his house, and he had not spoken a word. "Err. Yes, apologies. What?"

"We were not unprepared for this possibility."

That seemed to settle the Potions master down. He nodded. "Of... Yes. Of course, Sir."

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After one month of Hogwart's, Harry was wishing he had not been so quick to accept Zabulon's gift. The benefits were incredible, but it made fitting in within this world's magical community rather more difficult. Perhaps he should have asked for the gift to be postponed until he was almost done with school, at least?

Well, as the Dark Others would say, tough shit. Harry had to deal with what was there and that was all there was to it.

His magical core was steadily draining out. Emptying. A process that would take years. It made casting this world's spells extraordinarily difficult. It was great preparation for when the leader of Day Watch finally pierced the Veil and brought Harry to where he truly belonged - by then, he would be a Zeroth level Other. That realm's style of magic was different from what had developed here. There, the emptier one was, the greater one could draw in the power of the outer world to manipulate it.

Even here, in this world, he could already do some of the spells Zabulon was teaching him, despite having so little time with his master. Dark, powerful spells. He might not have been a true Other yet, but with these living reactors of magic around him, he did not have to be a negative husk with no magic inside - the power of these wizards and witches trickled into him and fueled him as if he was already a Fourth or Third Level Other. He could already descend into the first level of the Twilight, though it taxed him to stay there.

But spells with a wand? Agh! He longed to _triple-blade_ these smirking brats watching him struggle with such trivial things as levitating a feather. If they only knew how much Harry could do _without_ a wand...

He decided that something must be done about it. Having that red-headed buffoon mocking him behind his back, and Granger's pitying looks and overzealous attempts to help him in Charms and Transfiguration were becoming too much.

His magic was changing from day to day, becoming less like a wizard's, and more like an Other's. But there was one field of study where that simply did not matter.

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"How the devil do you do that?" Malfoy whispered. "You just used half of the required amount of fool's gold that was supposed to be needed, but it looks better than even that ugly Griffindor bitch's potion."

"Please, Draco. Don't be crude," Harry answered back. "She isn't beautiful, but she isn't ugly. Yes, I get it, you're not supposed to like her. I think you'll regret that though - she is very smart, and I can tell that when she grows into her features, she'll be rather fetching. Her teeth that seem too large now will fit when her face gets a bit wider, and I predict she shall have quite the impressive bosom."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Don't know how someone who seems so perceptive in other matters can be so blind about girls' looks."

Harry could not exactly reveal that he had done a small precognitive ritual, and was granted a vision of exactly what the future eighteen-year-old Hermione Granger's naked body would look like. He had not known what the effect of the spell was going to be, and Zabulon spent the rest of their dream-walk laughing at Harry's flame-bright cheeks.

"You'll just have to trust me on that, just as you have graciously conceded all potion-brewing to my superior talent and skill."

They were not being all that quiet. While they were whispering, the quality of their voices carried through the background noises of chopping and stirring and bubbling and the murmurs of their classmates. And that was deliberate. Just as Malfoy enjoyed seeing the Granger girl fume quietly at his words, Harry took pleasure in making her blush.

And wow, she was blushing, and quietly raging, chopping her ingredients and stirring too hard, angry and embarrassed and flattered all at once. Harry could taste it off of her aura. Delicious.

He continued, "There is a depth to Potions that takes a real feel for the magic within each ingredient. There's a way that each one needs to be cut, or ground, subtle effects. For example, if I add _this_ instead of powdered newt tails..."

"Oh shite!" Draco ducked behind the table as blue smoke billowed out of their cauldron.

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"Eh? What are you doing you idiotic - " Professor Snape paused, his searing put-down aborted by the utter perfection of the green-tinged, clear fluid simmering away once the smoke had cleared. It was done. And in half the time. How could the boy get such results despite often modifying the formulae without proper trial and experimentation?

Snape had been able to accomplish such feats of brewing himself as a student here, but only with painstaking effort, many hours spent outside of class. He had never seen anyone with such an intuitive feel for the endless gradient, the world within the small that composed the variety of magical essences existing in the various ingredients they handled.

Professor Snape simply could not understand him. And that lack of understanding resulted in fear... Harry Potter was neither like the contemptible bully that Snape would have given much to humiliate and terrorize, nor like the obedient and proper, if fiery woman that had once been his only true friend.

How was he to treat the Potter boy? A little more like his father and it would have been easy to needle him, to berate him, to disrupt his brewing and deflate his over-sized ego. More like his mother, and perhaps, just perhaps, Severus might have tried to befriend him.

Yes, he was afraid. Just as the Headmaster was afraid. There were qualities to Harry Potter that they could not understand... Dark qualities. And the only source of such darkness that he and Dumbledore could think of... Well. Best to be cautious with the boy either way - with the way he under-performed in his other classes but his inexplicable brilliance in potions, Severus Snape found him too alarming to treat worse or better.

So, Snape watched him, and feigned indifference. But Harry Potter seemed to be able to detect his unease, and whenever the boy would turn in yet another perfectly produced vial of potion, Snape's stomach would rumble and roil at the knowing grin on the boy's face.

That smile seemed to say, _Come on. Read my thoughts. I dare you._

If the worst was true... there was no way Professor Snape could risk that.

This time, just when the Potions-Master was starting to feel the relief of being done with Harry Potter for the day, he saw the boy lingering, while the other students filed out.

"What is it, Potter?"

Harry tilted his head to the left, then to the right. His eyes slid off of Professor Snape, as if he was looking at someone standing next to them both. "Well, sir. I am sure you've heard of my troubles in other classes."

"Indeed." It took effort for Professor Snape to refrain from adding a caustic comment about Harry's father's blood making him little more than a squib. Was the boy truly so hopeless, or was he just faking incompetence? And if so, why not fake it in Potions too?

"Well, I'm tired of it. I have worked out other ways I can complete my spell-work, Professor, but I'll need some extra hours here in the lab."

Snape closed his eyes. _Out of the question_, he wished to exclaim. _You just want special treatment just like that scum-sucking father of yours._ "And why, Potter, should I waste the additional time I will have to spend supervising you to ensure that nothing happens to the class lab and supplies?"

Those eyes gleamed. They seemed to change color, just slightly. Startling. Snape almost jerked back from the boy.

"You don't really have to watch me. Have I so much as scorched my cauldron or wasted a drachm of salt? Trust me." The grin was devilish. But not like his father's, no. It was... harder. Somehow.

Severus was losing patience. "You must know that I, as a certified Potions-Master, cannot allow students access to this lab without supervision."

"If I might just show you that it won't be a waste of your time? Pray, give me a chance, Sir. It will be worth your while."

Snorting was below him. So instead, he gave Potter his best, coldest sneer. He had made children piss themselves with it.

Harry's smile only widened.

"Fine. You have twenty minutes, starting now."

"I'll be late for Transfiguration - "

"I'll write you a note. Well? Get to it!"

Severus Snape watched, brow furrowed in concentration as he analyzed what the boy was doing. Four ingredients thus far. A rare earth that was a mix of oxides - nearly black with a certain luster, and grayish-green streaks - gadolinite; feathers from a thornbill hummingbird; absinthe; and oil extracted from walnuts. He could feel the slow changes in the raw substances as the boy worked them, chopping just so, grinding just so, heating just so, stirring just so. He frowned as the boy skillfully assembled glass tubes and hoses into a distillation set-up. Slow changes in color. Even with his own alchemic intuition honed over decades of intense study, Professor Snape could just barely glimpse what the resulting fluid might do.

"It's done," the boy said with satisfaction.

At that point, it was an indistinct shade. It was clear, but viscous and heavy rather than the light solution Snape had expected. Discerning hues and smells were very important skills for Potions-masters - if the Professor was pressed to describe the potion, he would say it was precisely arylide yellow, and the lingering scent was seawater with the tang of guano.

"And what is it supposed to do?" Severus could not help it any longer - he was intrigued despite himself.

Harry Potter smiled. He drew out one of his textbooks.

"I would just like to demonstrate a control."

Snape arched an eyebrow, looked down his nose at Potter. "Get on with it."

Harry took his wand, swished and flicked and said the latinate words with absolutely perfect enunciation... and the book haltingly, slowly, jerked up into the air. It wobbled and gyrated and after a few seconds that left the Potter boy visibly drained, wand trembling, it fell back onto the table.

"And now, see the difference."

Potter put a drop of the thick, honey-like solution onto the cover. He repeated the spell in exactly the same way... except this time, the book floated up, like a puff of cloud. The boy was maintaining it effortlessly, and demonstrated that he could make it move in any axis, fast or slow.

He lowered it gradually to the table with such control that it made no sound at all when he finally released the spell.

Professor Snape sighed, and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. This, he knew, was going to be a terrible head-ache. He could now see what Harry's intent was.

"And are you going to be making a different potion for every single wand-casting you are to learn, Mister Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"Where did you hear of this formulation, boy? Do _not_ lie to me."

He shrugged. "I worked it out while we were brewing today's preservative."

No legilimency to confirm the truth of it. He was still not comfortable attempting that. But now, for different reasons... And what did his gut say, the instincts that had kept him alive during the war, allowed him to deceive the most diabolical wizard since Grindelwald?

"You're telling the truth, aren't you?" he said slowly, amazed.

Severus had done studies along this line before. Spell effect amplifiers. Interesting... but not terribly useful to most wizards and witches. It was time-consuming, and required more preparation than spontaneously choosing the correct movement of a wand, saying the words, and visualizing the outcome. Every single spell would require a different potion. It was extracting magic from the world itself, and synthesizing it into a material manifestation of a spell that could be unlocked for later use.

That had been one of the research papers that had earned him his Master's certification. And the boy had produced a perfect amplifier, seemingly with improvisation and all of an hour's idle thinking.

No. Harry Potter was neither like James, nor Lily. But he was also not the Dark Lord reborn - Voldemort would never stoop to such a crutch - it would offend his sense of pride.

The boy was not faking. His core _was _deficient.

He was also the greatest Potions talent Severus had ever heard of, even counting old legends, even counting Flamel himself. The boy was not even twelve yet.

If Severus' own pride was threatened, it was nothing to the chills and excitement creeping up his spine. The chance to see what such talent could do...

"You are completely wasting your time, and mine," he snapped.

Ah, now the boy's irritation and confusion.

"But..."

"You're out of Potions classes for the rest of your stay here at Hogwart's, Mister Potter. Instead, you are on independent study. You will have your time here at the lab - and you are right. I had better keep an eye on you, or you'll blow up the castle."

Now, the boy was smiling again. With but a touch of warmth, Severus could see the ghost of Lily there, for just a moment.

"Do not look so pleased, Mister Potter. I will have you producing more documentation, more yards of parchment than you will be required to do in all the rest of your classes put together. Your entire weekend belongs to me. You will be giving up Saturday _and_ Sunday."

"Of course, Sir."

Neither spoke of it, but they both knew that Potions Master Snape had just accepted him as a full apprentice.

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